My Old Friend
by Trolley
Summary: Chapter Eight is up! Jack goes to Santa Fe, leaving the boys back in New York with their own set of problems...
1. I'm Still Here

**"My Old Friend"**

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, yadda yadda yadda, you get da drill! Tuesday owns Esco, Lil' Italy owns Butcher, Poker O'Shea owns Poker and Cut O'Shea, Sneaks owns Preacher, the name Trey Campbell (given to young Kid Blink) belongs to my boss, and it just so happens that the name Mike Rodgers was the name of that guy on Saved By the Bell: The College Years (which, by the way, is much more cheesy and corny than the first ones!) But anyway, that just goes to say that I own nothing! Ya happy? Good.   
A/N: I'm not sure of the specific sleeping arrangements in the lodging house, but for the purposes of my story, Kid Blink and Jack's bunks are next to each other's, and Race's is right under Blink's. I think that's how it is anyway! Anywoo, enjoy!

Thoughts from an author's mind: In setting out to write "My Old Friend," my first goal was simply to write a good Newsies story: accurate, believable, grammatically correct, interesting, etc. But this has become quite a project for me. It is, in at least three different ways, a coming of age story. After about page 20 or 25, I finally realized this and tried my best to fully develop each of these sub-plots. This story is my baby. I didn't choose the plot; in effect, it chose me. I had already started another Newsies story (which, btw, didn't amount to jack), but I just started thinking, "What if Jack really did go to Santa Fe?" I suppose we've all wondered that, but then I started singing Santa Fe and putting in different words, and it just wouldn't leave me alone! So this is just my take on what it might possibly could be like. So, without further ado…

Chapter One: I'm Still Here 

"Santa Fe  
I'm still here  
Do ya swear that you remember?  
How I promised you that I would come someday?  
Now the boys is finally sleepin'  
And I think I'll take my chance  
And I'll hop the train that's bound for Santa Fe…"

Jack Kelly boldly walked up to the Grand Central Terminal and dug in his pockets for the money that he had been saving for the past couple of weeks. "One way to Santa Fe."

--- Kid Blink awoke suddenly in the middle of the night. His eye shot open. He looked around wearily, his hazy mind gradually picking up the inkling that something was wrong. Yes, something was definitely wrong…Jack. It had to be. His friend had been acting rather strangely for the past week or so. He always had this far-off, rather dreamy look in his eyes, and he acted very distant. Since the strike was over, he hadn't been the same fearless leader, always standing up for the weaker boys, solving problems, and doing the normal leadership duties that he had always been so good at, making them seem effortless. Blink resisted the urge to wake Racetrack or one of the other guys and tell him of his suspicions about Jack. They would just shrug him off, think him crazy, and tell him to go back to sleep. Jack's bed was empty, but that wasn't uncommon considering the normal proceedings of the past couple of weeks. Cowboy often slept outside, claiming to enjoy the unpleasantly cold, wet weather. Blink had begun to infer that for some reason, perhaps Jack couldn't pay his rent, but would never have the guts to suggest that to his friend. Newspaper sales had been pretty high lately in light of the still recent strike. Either Jack had been saving up his money for something he wouldn't tell anyone about, or he was spending all of his money on something he couldn't tell anyone about. Maybe it had something to do with his falling out with Sarah Jacobs three weeks ago. _"You're a dirty, lazy street rat, and I wish I had never fallen in love with you!"_

Jack's eyes widened crazily. "Well I'se glad Mush an' Boots caught your hoity-toity butt cheatin! If dat's how yous been actin da whole time, I wish you hadn't neither!" 

"I did love you! But it's over! You're a dreamer, Jack Kelly, and that's all you'll ever be!" Sarah accused, wagging a finger in his face. "You'll never amount to anything! You're gonna be living on the street your whole life! You're not always gonna land on your feet." She took a deep breath, calming down slightly. "You'll never get to Santa Fe, Jack. You're dreaming your life away, and mine. It's been fun, but dreams won't put food on the table! Henry can provide for me! He's got plans, big plans." 

"Sarah, I gots plans!" Jack insisted adamantly.

"There's a difference between dreams and plans, Jack. Henry is getting an education, he's going to law school next year. I'll have security. I love him, I'm happy with him. If you really loved me, you would be happy for me!"

"Oh, of course, what's wrong wid me?" Jack threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. "Why ain't I thrilled to find out dat my goilfriend's been cheatin on me for da past month!?" 

Sarah stared him down evenly, shaking her head slightly. "Someday, your luck's gonna run out, Jack Kelly. And I'm not gonna be around to see it."

These were the last words she ever said to him. As these events re-played themselves over and over through Jack's racing mind as his train pulled into the grimy station, his anger gave him more courage and resolve to do what, two months before, would have been nigh unthinkable. The breakup had been the catalyst to his renewed dream of escaping to Santa Fe. Everything had been going great. The strike had concluded with a great victory, newspaper sales were higher than ever, and he was in love. But, the strike was over. Obviously, Sarah was over. What now? The guys didn't need a leader anymore. And David and Les? They had gone back to school about a month and a half after the strike. It had been horrible for Jack. He knew he had to be strong for his friend, so he had tried his best to take it as easily as possible. 

_"Hey, Cowboy. I need to talk to you." David hardly ever used Jack's nickname._

"Sure Davey, what's goin on?" Jack asked somewhat apprehensively, sitting down on the curb. 

David followed suit. "Jack, my father's doing much better." 

"Well that's great, send him my regards," Jack congratulated, clapping Dave on the back. 

"No Jack, that's not it. The factory gave him his job back. He's starting work tomorrow."

"So far so good. I don't see no problem, Davey."

David took a deep breath and continued. "Jack, Les and I have to go back to school."

"What?"

"My parents always told us that as soon as dad got his job back, we would start school again. We don't need to earn the extra money."

A rush of memories came flooding back to Jack, and he shook his head to try to dispel the lump beginning to form in the back of his throat. 

"Jack, you don't get it, do you? Me and Les won't be selling papes anymore. I can't do that! I'm a newsie now! That's all I want to be. I don't want to go back to school."

Jack turned his head back to David, and the other could see red rims beginning for form around Jack's eyes. "Davey, I don't wantcha to go back to school neither. But ya gots to do whatcha gots to do. I gots to sell papes, and yous gots to go to school." 

"But Jack, I'm different now. You and the rest of the guys have taught me so much, I've really changed."

"Good. It'll help ya out. If I'se taught you anyt'ing I want it to be that it ain't always bad to take a chance, shake t'ings up a bit. Go for it. I know yous is gonna be alright." He enveloped Dave in a sudden hug. "I'se gonna miss yous two, we all will. But you'll be by to visit, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. And you know you're welcome to come over for dinner whenever you want."

A grin broke across Jack's face. "Thanks, Davey. I t'ink I'll take ya up on dat." 

The boys stood and exchanged another hug, "Thanks Jack. I feel much better." But Jack could see his friend's eyes twinkling with held back tears. "I-I'd better be getting home," David coughed softly. "Okay, I'll see ya Dave." He spit in his palm and extended it to David, who returned the gesture. 

The boys then went their separate ways, each desperately trying to quell the small flood of tears he had been hiding from the other. 

Blink remembered that night. Jack had come in several hours later, but Blink was still awake. Blink had quietly watched his friend lying there for a few moments, a tear or two still slowly making its way down his cheeks. 

_Jack looked over to see the one-eyed boy quizzically watching the last few tears slither down his face and quickly rolled over. "Blink!" came the surprised squeak. He quickly cleared his throat, adding, "What you still doin awake?" with a slight hint of defensive annoyance. _

"Couldn't sleep," Blink answered shortly, trying to pretend he hadn't seen what he knew he had. "So what's goin on?" 

"Davey and Les is goin back to school," Jack confided with a defeated sigh. "Fadda got his job at da factory back." 

Blink was truly shocked. "No way. Dat ain't right!"

"I knows it."

The two boys lay awake for the rest of the night, talking some, laughing a little, and simply thinking. 

He boarded the train with confidence. The train, his escape. His portal to a new world, a world of rolling plains, open pastures, clear blue skies, and all he had ever read about in his books. 

He finally allowed a few hot tears to trickle down his cheeks as he realized that most of his thoughts for a long while would dwell on the boarding house full of sleeping boys who he had left behind. As Jack thought back, he remembered how he and Kid Blink had bonded the night that Davey left. They had always had a special relationship, as most of the newsies did with one another, but after that night, it was different. At moments, one almost seemed to know what the other was thinking. Somehow, Jack knew that Blink was awake right now, and even that he probably suspected what he was up to. However, right after Jack and Sarah's break-up, when he first made up his mind to make his dream his reality, he began to distance himself from all of the guys. But especially from Blink, and also Racetrack, whom he had always been very close to as well. He feared they would suspect his intentions, but reasoned that the farther he pushed them away, the less they would be able to conclude. As the train roughly bumped on, he thought of a confrontation with Racetrack two weeks ago. 

_Racetrack walked up to an unusually quiet Jack during a bustling night at the lodging house._

"Hey Cowboy, why so quiet?"

Jack looked up from his reverie. "Oh, hey Race. Jus tired, I guess. What's up?"

Race looked at him skeptically and lit a cigar. "Dat's what I was gonna ax you."

"Whadaya mean?" Jack asked, taking the cigar out of Race's mouth and taking a puff.

"It's jus lately you been acting different. Like ya don't like us no more. You mad at me or somethin?"

"Ah, no way Race, I don't wantcha to think that."

"Well, me and Blink both's been noticin dat somet'in seems wrong. We'se worried aboutcha." 

Jack took a long drag from Race's cigar and handed it back to him. "I guess I jus gots a lot on me mind is all."

Race thought he knew where Jack had been headed. "Ah, Sarah, I see. Jack, she's a jerk, you gotta get over her, man." 

"Yeah, I know, but it's hard. I thought I was in love."

"I know it. But she's jus a goil. Dere's plenty of em out dere, eh Jacky-Boy," Race grinned and ribbed his friend, hoping to get a smile. He did. "We miss ya, Jack."

"I'se still here."

"I know, but yous just ain't da same. Hey, I'se here for ya if ya wants to talk. All da guys is, you remember dat."

For the first time in weeks, Jack genuinely smiled. He suddenly realized that the guys might really be okay without him. If they needed a leader, Race was probably their man. Blink also had a way of getting people's spirits up and encouraging peace and harmony, but may not quite have the guts to get them going on his own. As he continued to contemplate, he realized that all of his boys had become independent over the years. And they would raise the younger ones the same fashion. Yes, the Manhattan newsies' world would keep spinning without their beloved Cowboy. 

Racetrack remembered having thought that the smile, which barely reached Jack's eyes, had looked a little funny. He had woken up about the time that Jack had started thinking about the conversation. He was already in a rather restless sleep, and Blink's constant thrashing on the bunk above his had finally roused him awake. The two had always been very close ever since Jack had saved a scrawny nine-year-old Race out of a sticky situation with the also young, but still big, Delancey Brothers. After that, the cowboy and the smart aleck had been inseparable. After a few moments, Blink's stirring had started to become really annoying, so Race pounded on his friend's bed frame, scaring him out of his wits. He leaned down to Race's bunk, breathing heavily, his eye wide with surprise. 

"Heya Blinky-boy. Couldn't sleep neither I see."

"It's Jack, ain't it?" Blink quietly hopped down and sat next to Race on his bed.

Race sat up and moved over to make room for the other boy. "Well actually, you woke me up, tossin and turnin up dere. But yeah, I woke up t'inkin 'bout Jack."

"Whadaya t'ink's goin on?"

"Dunno."

"He been actin weird for awhile. I'se worried about 'im."

"Yeah." Race lit a cigar. "I woke up t'inkin bout dat talk I had wit Jack dat I told ya about. Blink, I ain't so sure he was t'inkin bout Sarah dat night." 

"Me neither." He took a drag from the cigar Race offered, blue-ish smoke billowing languidly about their feet. 

The guys sat in silence for a few moments, smoking and thinking. Eventually Race extinguished the cigar in a nearby potted plant. "So what should we do?"

"Whatever we decide, I say we wait till mornin. We gots to t'ink of somethin to tell de others."

"Well, we ain't even sure what's goin on yet, so we need to make up somethin to cover for 'im, so's dey don't get scared and start panickin'."

"Good idea. We's can say he spent da night at Davey's and's takin da day off."

"Yeah," Race agreed. "But Kid, we can't cover for 'im forever, ya know."

"I know, so's we gonna go lookin for 'im." Realization had been dawning on Blink over the past few minutes. It took those few moments for his thoughts to fully develop, but thought he had an idea of where their friend had gone. 

"Where we gonna look, Blink? What if we can't find 'im? We gots no idea where he went."

Blink started to get excited. "Race, t'ink about it. What's been da Cowboy's dream ever since we knowed 'im?"

The same realization hit Race like a ton of bricks. "Santa Fe," he whispered. "Of course, how could we have been so blind?" 

Blink resisted the urge to laugh at the irony of Race's last comment. Race hadn't noticed. "I say we go now."

"What? Blink, what happened to waitin for tomorrow? We can't go now!"

"We have to! What good will it be to wait for mornin, we ain't gonna sleep anyway! We might even be able to catch him before he gets on the train! Come on Racetrack. Take a gamble," he implored.

Race seemed to ponder for a mere short moment. "Let's do it." 


	2. Can't Be Newsies Forever

Shank you to all of my lovely reviewers!! Would do shout-outs, but, no, don't feel like, it....I LOVE YOU ALL THOUGH!! Just...so...tired...*falls asleep, dreams of Blink*

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, yadda yadda yadda, you know da drill! Tuesday owns Esco, Lil' Italy owns Butcher, Poker O'Shea owns Poker and Cut O'Shea, Sneaks owns Preacher, the name Trey Campbell (given to young Kid Blink) belongs to my boss, and it just so happens that the name Mike Rodgers was the name of that guy on Saved By the Bell: The College Years (which, by the way, is much more cheesy and corny than the first ones!) But anyway, that just goes to say that I own nothing! Ya happy? Good.

Newsies featured: Jack, Blink, Race, Skittery, Specs, Snoddy, Spot

Newsies mentioned: All the others! 

Betas: Tuesday and Gin (thank ya'll sooo much!)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter Two: Can't Be Newsies Foreva

A few final tears silently flowed down Jack's face as he reminisced about the good friends he was leaving behind. They were the only family he had ever known. The only family he could remember well, anyway. He remembered all the things they remembered, the ways they first met, the high times, the hard times. Another tear threatened to fall from his eye as he remembered the slingshot incident that had cost Kid Blink his. He thought back on Mush's first girlfriend, Skittery's infamous pink shirt, the way Dutchy was always losing his glasses, Crutchy and his sweet, warm smile, teaching the younger ones how to read, teaching the newbies how to "improve the truth"…Jack's thoughts trailed off, and as the train bumped along, he fell asleep thinking of the guys, but specifically Kid Blink. Jack was remembering how he had gotten his nickname… 

_Ten-year-old Jack Kelly handed the slingshot back to his eight-year-old friend Spot Conlon. "Dat's a beauty, Spot. Ya know how to shoot it yet?"_

About that time, Jack's friend Racetrack joined them, followed by the new kid, Trey Campbell. This little blond boy had joined the newsies at the lodging house about a month ago after his father had run off and his mother committed suicide. Obviously, it had been extremely hard on the child, but he was adjusting very well to his new life with all his new friends. However, in the next 27 seconds, another hardship would come upon the nine-year-old orphan. He watched little Spot clumsily load his new slingshot, awkwardly pull back the sling, and confidently aim it and let it go in the direction of a dented old tin can set precariously on the rail of the Brooklyn Bridge. However, Spot was not yet the dead shot that he would later become. He had aimed too low, causing the marble to hit the railing and ricochet straight into the face of young Trey. Somehow, the frantic boys got him to a doctor, who, Jack remembered, had said that Trey was lucky to have only lost his eye. Mr. Kloppman had given him an eye patch and told him to wear it all time, it would help him get sympathy. After that, Jack wasn't sure of the exact creation of the nickname, but he was pretty sure that Kloppman had had something to do with it. 

Blink chuckled whenever he remembered this also. However, he did in fact remember how Kloppman had come up with it. When Trey first got his patch, it was hard to become accustomed to blinking with only one eye. So his eye would only half close some of the time, and he would freak out because his eye was drying out. So Kloppman would tell him to "Just blink, kid, blink!" Obviously, it stuck. Blink tried to suppress his laughter as he thought about how incredibly stupid his nickname really was. 

"Hey, will ya be quiet, ya bonehead?" Race hissed to a stumbling, laughing Blink who was woken out of his reverie.

Blink winced as he knocked something else over as they exited the bunk room. "Sorry, I don't see too good in da dark."

Race rolled his eyes. "You don't see too good in da light."

Blink shrugged and hushed Race as the boys passed the front desk and a snoring Kloppman. Blink put his hand around the bell that was hung over the doorknob and the two silently stole into the night.

"Where to now?"

Blink looked around himself nervously, uneasy about being on the streets of New York in the middle of the night. "Grand Central's forty-five minutes away. Dat's da only place I would know of to look for him." He sat down on the damp curb and noticed a wadded up piece of paper a mere few inches from his feet. He picked up the grimy note and flattened it out, Race joining him. "'Gone to Santa Fe. Jack.'" The two boys sat dumbfounded. "He was prob'ly gonna leave it but decided not to. Prob'ly 'fraid he'd loose his noive."

Blink slammed his fist on the curb and Race cursed angrily.

"We gotta go afta him!"

Race looked at Blink as if he were crazy. "Are you crazy? We can't do dat!"

"Well, what's we gonna do? We can't jus let Jack leave like dat, he can't do dis to us!"

Race could've sworn he saw the bright glint of tears threatening to well up in his friend's eye. "Why can't he? If he jus wants to 'bandon awl 'is friends like dat, let 'im! We don't need 'im anyway! Blink, it's his life. If he wants to go off to Santa Fe, we ain't got no right to stop 'im. We's all gots to move on sometime. We can't be newsies foreva." 

There was a sudden deafening silence as the newsies stood in the middle of the street in Manhattan, New York at 2:37 in the morning, and for the first time ever, really realized that they were growing up. We can't be newsies foreva. It echoed in their minds as it had down the dark, dusty streets. Race was just as taken aback by his comment as Blink, who added quietly, "Yeah, but we's still newsies now." Then, as an afterthought, "He could've at least talked to us about it." 

"Nah. He knew we'd react jus like dis. Blink, we need to let 'im go. He'll come back when he's good 'n ready."

"'When'?" Blink repeated.

"Yeah, when. He's comin back. He ain't ready for Santa Fe yet. Heck, Santa Fe ain't ready for him."  
---  
Jack had been feeling that way about growing up for quite some time now. However, he didn't share Race's sentiment that he wasn't ready. In his mind, he had been ready ever since he read his first cowboy story with his mother nine years ago. After his good-for-nothing dad had run off and eventually gone to jail for who-knew-what, his mother really had told him that the family was going out there to make a better life for themselves. But the next day she and his younger brother and sister had been killed when their house caught fire while Jack was at school, crushing his dreams and leaving the eight-year-old on the streets. Eventually, he found the newsies and created a new life. Now, it was time for another change. He was 

_(almost)_

sure of it. He hadn't talked it over with anyone, and had backed out of leaving a note for fear that he would be talked out of his decision or loose his nerve. Even now he had his reservations, but was exhilarated by the fact that there was no turning back.

He arrived at his first stop in Chicago. Jack was rather tired from the trip, so he tried to sleep in the terminal as he waited for the train to take him to St. Louis, but the rancid odors, filthy conditions and bums coming up asking him for money somewhat hindered that prospect. Chicago was horrible, Jack realized. New York was bad enough, but it was home. But not anymore. Santa Fe was home, he reminded himself. He just hoped it was nothing like Chicago.   
---  
Blink looked up at the dim stars through the smoggy New York air. "I wonder where Jack is now," he mused quietly.

"Hey man, we bettah head back." Race clapped his friend on the back and the boys headed back to the lodging house, both knowing that neither would sleep. They entered the lodging house and nonchalantly passed Kloppman, then went upstairs, taking none of their previous pains to avoid the creaky steps. 

"I feel betrayed," Blink murmured as the boys sprawled out on Race's bed.

"Yeah. But you know Jack. Sure we was his friends and awl, but he was always lookin out for number one."

Blink raised his head. "Whadaya mean?" he asked, somewhat defensively. 

"You know, he only did stuff if it was good for him. And if it happened to 'elp someone else out, den good." Race had been harboring these feelings for Jack deep within his subconscious for quite a while, but the events of the last few hours finally brought them to the surface.

Blink lay quietly for a moment, attempting not to believe this accusation. His attempts didn't work. "Yeah, I guess you's right. How're we gonna tell da guys?"

"Jus give it to 'em straight. Dey can take it."

"Dey don't gots a leader no more."

Race looked at his friend resolutely. "Sure dey do. You an' me Kid. We can run dis show! What's dere to it? Dere ain't no strike to worry 'bout no more. Da reign of Jack Cowboy Kelly is over. Like I'se said, we's awl gots to move on."

"Yeah."

The guys didn't say much the rest of the night, drifting in and out of fitful sleep. By the time Kloppman came in for the morning ritual, Race was already up and ready. 

"Come on boys, geddup! Snoddy, Bumlets. Come on Mush, I don't wanna 'ear no complainin this mornin. Geddup, all a' yous, come on, carry da banner. Blink, whatayadoin', geddup, you're blind, not deaf. An' where's Kelly, he bummin' it again?"

Blink sat up, holding his head in his hands. "Nope. He's gone."

"Gone? Whadaya mean, gone?"

Snipeshooter heard this from his bed where he was arrantly smoking a stolen cigar. "Jack's gone!?" he exclaimed.

"Shhh! We don't want da whole woild to know yet!"

However, it was too late. The reaction was much different from when Jack had almost left the first time, right after the strike. Their family-like bond had grown infinitely stronger since then, and this time it came as an absolute surprise. They wouldn't know what to do without Jack around anymore. Lately, they had taken his presence almost for granted, relying on his constant friendship and support. Now what were they to do when someone was accused of cheating at poker, or the bulls were after one of them for jipping a customer out of change, or a fight broke out? The newsies had become quite dependent on their Cowboy over the past couple of months, and they would feel empty without him. 

The guys started to crowd around Blink and Snipeshooter, murmuring amongst themselves and most likely hatching rumors already. Kloppman quieted the boys down so Blink, who was now joined by Race, could explain. 

"Yes, Jack is gone. He left las' night, went to Santa Fe. Dat's awl dere is to it."

The lodging house erupted in a chorus of surprise, alarm, and anger. A resounding "What?!" was heard above the rest of the chaos and an ensuing riot was quickly quelled by Kloppman.

"Hey hey, let da boys finish." Then the old man's curiosity, of course, got the better of him. "Come on guys, what's up, why'd he leave?"

"Dunno. He jus got up in da middle o' da night n' took off. We dunno why, but we found dis note." Blink handed the crumpled paper to Kloppman, who slowly read it for all the guys to hear.

"'Gone to Santa Fe. Jack.'" Kloppman shook his head in disbelief. "Well, how 'bout dat. Alright, get up, sell da papes."

But all the guys were dumbfounded. How could they sell their papes just like normal with out their Cowboy there to get them out of any trouble they might get themselves into? How could Jack do this to them?

Race decided that now was the perfect time for his pep talk. As he climbed on top of Blink's bed, he silently prayed that he could execute it with considerably more confidence than he had to Blink the night before. "Hey guys, get yourselves togedda. So what if Jack left? We don't need 'im!" He dodged the miscellaneous clothing items hurled at him by the boys, who were enraged at the name of their former leader being blasphemed in such a way. 

Blink joined his friend on top of his bed, hitting his head as he forgot to take the same pains to accommodate for the low ceiling that Race had. He hoped not many had seen and began as if it hadn't happened. "Guys, shaddup, he's right! We can make it without Jack, da strike's over! Awl we gots to do is sell papes, and we don't need Jack by our sides to do dat!" A few boos ensued, but the boys were still listening and Race knew that they could be won over. 

"Jack ain't got no responsibility to us, he had ev'ry right to leave. Blink's right, we can make it on our own!"

Poor Mush was near tears. "But Race, we do need a leader. We gots other problems 'sides da strike dat needs solvin!" Specs, Skittery, and Pie Eater agreed with him.

"Whadaya t'ink me an' Blink's doin standin in front o' ya like dis? We's loined well from Jack, we's can take care o' yous. Da reign of Jack Kelly in 'hattan is over. We's awl gots to move on sometime, boys.

The guys were somewhat taken aback by Race's tirade. Except Snipeshooter. "Yeah, we don't need Jack no more! We's can take care of ourselves!"

The truth of their new leaders' words began to sink in to most of the boys. "Yeah, Race 'n Blink ain't gonna let no one starve or nothin'," Crutchy agreed as he congratulated his new leaders.

As the two men came down from their "soapbox," they were greeted with cheers and congrats from the majority of the newsies. However, there were a few scattered around the room that had a great deal of doubt in their new self-proclaimed leaders. Skittery noticed by the disapproving look on his face that Snoddy seemed to feel the same way as he, so he approached him at the same time that Specs joined them.

"I don't like dis one bit," Skittery announced. "No one can jus come in an' take Jack's place."

"Yeah," Specs agreed. "Dat's 'sactly what I'se t'inkin. We don't need no new leaders."

"So what are we gonna do about it? Overthrow them or something?" Snoddy asked sarcastically, ever the skeptic.

"No no, none o' dat. We's still peaceful Manhattan newsies, we ain't gonna do nuttin violent. Race n' Blink don't mean no harm, dey's jus a couple o' self-righteous morons can't think o' anyt'ing better to do den try to boss people around." The other boys tried to ignore the bitterness dripping from their "leader's" voice. "We'll jus find our own sellin spot. We'll stick togedda awl da time, an' we won't cause no trouble or nuthin. So you guys wid me?" Snoddy and Specs nodded their agreement to Skittery.

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Whee-hoo, read and review please, I'll love you forever, and you might actually get a shout next time!! Yay!! Love ya'll!! 


	3. No Turning Back

Shout-outs!!!  
  
Blue Boxer: *holds out Blink* Come and get 'im, he's waitin!!!  
  
Lil Italy: Thanks so much, love!  
  
Fantasy: Shank you much, dearie  
  
Nebula-Archer: *holds out chapter* Here ya go!!  
  
Hope ya'll like, please pretty please review!!!  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*  
  
Jack's thoughts were now dwelling more on the future that lay before him than on the past that he had left behind. He would finally be a real cowboy out in Santa Fe, breakin' his back for no one but himself, free to do as he wished. He now had a future, there was no holding him back. He could now exercise the will and drive to succeed that he had felt in his heart ever since he first became a newsie. He would do whatever it took. He again reminded himself that there was no turning back.  
  
---  
  
"So what we do now?"  
  
Race nonchalantly counted his papes and thanked Mr. Zudiker, the new distribution engineer. "Whadaya mean?"  
  
Blink sat down next to his friend to take a look at the headlines. "I know you don't know anymore den I do 'bout bein a leader."  
  
"Eh, dere's nuttin to it. Jus remember how Jack did it. Don't worry 'bout it. Jus wait till somethin happens dat someone needs your leadership soivices for."  
  
"So people'll jus start comin to us whenever dey gots a problem?" He felt a slight tug at his pant leg. He looked down to see Tumbler staring up at him with big, watery eyes.   
  
"Blink, he didn't gimme awl me papes."  
  
Blink perplexedly followed as the small boy dragged him over to the familiar distribution desk. "What's goin on?" he asked politely.  
  
"Da kid said he wanted t'oity papes, but he only 'ad enough for twenty-five," Zudiker explained diffidently.   
  
"No, I had enough, I promise!" Tumbler insisted, near tears.  
  
Blink quieted the boy, shooing him away slightly, and smiled apologetically at Zudiker as he surreptitiously dug in his pockets for enough loose change for five papers. "You know dese kids dese days, ain't got a very good education. He musta jus counted wrong, it was an honest mistake," he whispered, leaning over the counter slightly.  
  
Mr. Zudiker winked at Blink and nodded understandingly, sliding Tumbler his five papers. "Sorry 'bout dat, buddy! My mistake!"  
  
Tumbler quickly hugged Blink's leg and ran off to sell his papes with his friends. Blink rejoined Race with a peculiar look on his face. "Ya know, dat felt real good, helpin someone out like dat."  
  
Race chuckled. "See, I told ya. Nuttin to it."  
  
"Yeah. Nuttin to it."  
  
After buying their papes, Snoddy and Specs drew away from the others and joined Skittery to discuss their new selling spot.  
  
"So where we gonna go?"  
  
"We's goin to da Bronx."  
  
"All da way to da Bronx?" Specs exclaimed.  
  
"Yeah, we's gonna sell over by dat new zoo dey buildin. No 'hattan newsies never sold dere," Skittery decided.  
  
"Don't you think that might cause a few problems with the newsboys in the Bronx?" Snoddy asked quietly.   
  
"Yeah," Specs agreed. "We can't afford no trouble from dem."  
  
"Nah, no one'll notice us. I jus gotta get away from dese guys, ya know?"  
  
The two others nodded in agreement.  
  
Blink and Race sold together by the harbor and Central Park for most of the day, occasionally joined by Mush, Itey, and some of the younger boys. It had been a good day, fortune shining on a new era of Manhattan in the form of the blazing, cloudless sun, and the newsies reunited at Tibby's later in the day.  
  
"Hey Crutchy, how'd da day treat ya?"  
  
The gimp was positively beaming. "Oh, it was a great day today, Dutchy. I sold eighty papes!"  
  
"Way to go man! I could only push seventy."  
  
Blink scanned the restaurant full of bustling, joking boys, noticing that nearly all of his newsies had gathered there. His newsies. The thought sounded so strange, yet somehow so right in his mind. "Eh, anyone seen Skitts today?"  
  
The rest of the guys looked around, slightly ashamed that they hadn't noticed their friend missing. "No, an' I ain't seen Snoddy or Specs neither," Bumlets commented.  
  
Race was somewhat concerned at this point. What kind of a leader was he, relaxing and goofing off when some of his boys might be in trouble? His boys. Yeah, that sounded good. "Swifty," he called, jumping in shock when the boy was at his side almost before Race had finished calling his name. "Swifty, run over to da lodgin' house real quick n' see if Skittery, Snoddy, n' Specs is dere." Swifty was out the door before Race could finish his command.  
  
The normal festivities at Tibby's continued, but of course it was different without Jack. Not good different, but not really bad different either. Just not the same. They all felt it, but no one said anything. Jack had been the topic of a few conversations during selling that day, and the man's name came up every now and then, but generally everyone was trying to keep him off their minds. They were all becoming increasingly confident that everything would be alright. However, many a 'hattanite would lie in his bed that night, thinking of his old leader and friend and trying to hold back the silent tears that streamed down his face.  
  
---  
  
Jack had finally boarded his last train, leaving from St. Louis, Missouri heading straight to Santa Fe, New Mexico. The euphoria welling up within him was overwhelming, and he felt as if he might explode if he didn't get off that train soon. Jack reached into his pockets, gathering the change and straightening the crumpled bills as he counted his money. He had enough to at least get him up and on his feet. He would soon have enough to even buy his own horse and get his own place, and maybe he would even meet a girl and have his own family. The possibilities were endless, Jack was sure of it. Only the sky was his limit. He was no longer trapped with no future; he would have his change of scene.  
  
---  
  
Approximately seven minutes after he had left, Swifty returned with the news that the three missing newsies were indeed back at the lodging house, having been rather worn out after a hard day of selling around the construction site of the new Bronx Zoo.  
  
"Dey awight?"  
  
"They seemed perfectly fine, just a bit tired," The Rake answered softly and smoothly with a slight smirk.  
  
"Thanks Swift," Race acknowledged, receiving a small nod in reply from the dark, mysterious boy who now retreated back into the shadows. Race pensively sipped his Coca-Cola and cast his friend a wary, sidelong glance. He loved Swifty like a brother, but sometimes the kid made him a little antsy. They didn't just give out nicknames like "The Rake" for nothing. However, Race knew that he was most likely completely harmless and simply too concerned with more important issues than causing trouble to a fellow man. But he would be sure to keep an eye on him just in case. Couldn't have any uprisings or anything. As Race was contemplating this, neither of the new leaders gave any thought to the three young men brooding back at the lodging house, somewhat unwittingly planning their mutiny against them and all of their friends.  
  
---  
  
As they had stated before, Skittery, Specs, and Snoddy meant no harm whatsoever. However, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Or rather in this case, the road to full-fledged borough warfare. Little did they know that they had been watched as they sold on that sunny yet slightly chilly September day. Cut O'Shea knew that the Bronx was obviously not in Manhattan, and he knew that Jack Kelly knew that too. These were definitely Jack's boys; Spot Conlon had confirmed it. It was Bronx territory, Manhattan didn't have any right there. Jack knew better than to sell on someone else's turf. Cut considered going to Kelly, but decided to bide his time before causing any trouble. But if this kept up, there most certainly would be trouble. Kelly could count on it.  
  
---  
  
At long last, Jack's train lurched into the Santa Fe terminal. He shivered with expectancy as butterflies pounded away in his stomach, gathering his meager belongings with shaking hands, and assuredly, yet somewhat diffidently, stepped off the train into his new life. He fixed his old cowboy hat on his head to block the searing southwestern sun from his eyes. Jack took a deep breath of fresh, non-polluted air, and for the first time in his life, he really felt free.  
  
---  
  
"Hey Skitts, Specs, Snoddy," Racetrack greeted cheerfully as he and the rest of the guys came back to the Lodging House for the night.  
  
"Oh. Hey Racetrack," Skittery returned shortly, barely glancing at him from over his cards and quickly returning to the half-hearted poker game.  
  
"So, uh, where'd you guys sell today?"  
  
Skittery looked up at Race, seemingly annoyed. "The Bronx."  
  
"Da Bronx?" Race sat down on his bed and lit a cigar. "Why so far out?"  
  
"Wanted a change o' scene," Specs answered nonchalantly after a brief pause, realizing that Skittery was apparently out of answers.  
  
Race regarded the three with a suspicious look, casting a glance at Blink, who was just returning to the bunkroom after washing his face.  
  
"Yous didn't run into no trouble out dere?"  
  
"No. Why should we?"  
  
Race shrugged. "Dunno. It's jus, you know. Not our usual turf."  
  
"Oh. No, no one gave us no trouble."  
  
"Well, dat's good. But from now on, let's try to stay in 'hattan, okay?"  
  
The three poker players looked at each other narrowly, then Skittery: "Sure Race. Whateva you say."  
  
"Okay. Thanks."  
  
Blink looked over at Race and whispered, "I don't like dis. Dese guys, I t'ink dey up to somet'in."  
  
Race sat quietly for a moment as he pensively smoked his cigar. "I dunno. Dey's prob'ly jus havin some trouble 'justin to da new leadership is awl. We'll keep an eye on 'em, but I t'ink dey harmless. But oh, Swifty kinda gives me da creeps, we should keep an eye on him too."  
  
"Yeah, I know whatcha mean, but I don't t'ink he'll be a problem. He keeps to himself a lot."  
  
The guys unconsciously scanned the room and found the Rake playing poker with Skittery, Specs, and Snoddy. Snitch had joined them as well.  
  
"Well, he does most o' da time."  
  
"Hey Race," called Pie-eater, who had also joined the game. "Come play with us, we'll deal ya in."  
  
"Awight, I'se comin." Score. This would be a good opportunity to see if he could find out if anything was up. And if he couldn't, he could at least earn a little extra cash. Hopefully. He took one last look around the bunk room. Everything was pretty much business as usual. Blink had joined a game of Spoons with Mush, Bumlets, Itey, and Dutchy. Snipeshooter, Boots, and Tumbler were playing marbles with some of the other young boys. Yep, business as usual. But Race knew that it was somehow different. The normal laughter and bustle was somewhat muffled by the ever-present veil of Cowboy's absence. Everyone's inner thoughts were with Jack. Where was he, how was he, why did he leave them? Race tried to push these thoughts out of his own head as he lay down his cards of another winning hand.  
  
"Well boys, I think I'se gonna get to bed." Skittery stood, stretched, and glanced around at Snoddy and Specs, who followed suit.  
  
"Yeah, it's been a rough day. G'night guys."  
  
The poker game quickly dissolved as the rest of the boys realized that they were rather tired as well. Race collected his winnings and approached Blink as Skittery quietly called his followers over to discuss tomorrow's plans.   
  
"Da Bronx again boys?" Skittery suggested. Snoddy agreed.  
  
"But what are we gonna tell dese chumps when dey ax us where we sold tomorrow?" Specs queried.  
  
Skittery snorted contemptibly. "We'll tell em whateva the heck we want to. Dey ain't in charge of us!" The others agreed heartily. 


	4. Triumphs and Tribulations

One big shout-out to all my lovely reviewers! I really hope ya'll are enjoying this...in this chapter, things really start to come together...or fall apart, however you wanna look at it...  
  
~*~*~  
  
The rest of the week went by pretty smoothly for the boys in New York. Skittery, Specs, and Snoddy continued to sell in the Bronx, occasionally visiting Harlem and Queens, Blink and Race continued to leave them alone, and Cut O'Shea continued to fester. Manhattan's two new leaders were adapting well to their positions and things were beginning to get back to normal…whatever that was. The headlines were selling great, the weather was pleasant, and the newsies were adjusting nicely to life without Jack Kelly. However, Santa Fe wasn't exactly doing the same for Jack. Since initially arriving, he had already been fired from his first job as a waiter for mouthing off to a rude customer and was currently seeking employment at a nearby saloon. He had taken up temporary residence with his previous employer, so he currently had nowhere to sleep for the night. However, his rather non-illustrious career made it seem highly unlikely that Jack would be getting a job around these parts anytime soon. A kindly patron of the saloon listened in as the ragged boy relayed his sad story to the owner, who insisted that he did not need anymore bartenders. The man stopped Jack as he walked dejectedly out the door.  
  
"Life been treatin ya bad, son?" the stranger asked through a full beard, kind brown eyes looking the boy up and down.  
  
"Ya might say dat, Mister." Jack tried once again to leave. He didn't need to waste his time talking to this crazy old man.  
  
He grabbed Jack by the shoulder and spun him around to look at him. "I've got a proposition for you, boy. I own a cattle ranch out here round these parts, and I could use a new hand. I'll provide you with food, shelter, and decent pay, if you do your job right and don't cause me no trouble."  
  
Jack was so stunned he didn't know how to respond. Here he was, barely a week in Santa Fe, and already had a job offer to be a real cowboy. The man must have noticed the shocked expression on the boy's face. "Well, ya interested, son?"  
  
Jack wagged his head up and down adamantly. "Yes sir, dat sounds great!"  
  
"Can ya ride a horse, boy?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"What's yer name, son?"  
  
Jack was glad to tell him. He was beginning to tired of being called 'boy' and 'son.' "Jack Kelly."  
  
"Pleased to meet ya, Jack, the name's Mike Rogers. You don't sound like you're from around here. What's your story, son?"  
  
"Oh, I'se from New York. I'm an orphan, made a livin sellin newspapas on da streets." Jack felt no need to lie to his new employer. It felt strange telling the truth for once. It actually felt pretty good.  
  
Mr. Rogers looked at him strangely. "So you're one a them newsboys I been reading bout it the paper." He chuckled at Jack's sheepish nod, clapping him on the back. "You kids did a mighty deed there. You should be proud of yourself."  
  
Jack was taken aback. "Da news spread awl da way out here?"  
  
"Yes siree, it's all over da country."  
  
HTML"Wow," he whispered. The world really did know. Technology these days was amazing. He couldn't wait to tell the guys. iThe guys that he would never see again./i He quickly pushed these thoughts out of his head as he heard Mr. Rogers talking to him again./HTML  
  
"So what brings a city boy like you out here to Santa Fe?"  
  
Jack continued to tell his story as he and his new boss walked out of the saloon into the dry Santa Fe heat. The future cowboy had no idea what was in store, but he sure was looking forward to it.  
  
---  
  
Cut O'Shea, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was going to do, and was somewhat looking forward to it. These little Manhattan boys needed to be shown their place, and that it wasn't in the Bronx. He had planned a "meeting" for a few of his boys to go to Manhattan and talk to Kelly and set him straight once and for all. He didn't go himself because he had a feeling that things would get messy, and he didn't want to be blamed when they did. Or if he was, he wanted to have some time to make a break for it. He had learned his lesson after accidentally inciting a small war between the Bronx and Harlem. Hadn't ended well, he remembered…  
  
---  
  
Jack walked on with Mike, chatting about each others' pasts, presents, and futures. He decided that he really liked this man. Jack's bleak introduction to the West had seemingly taken a turn for the better. They continued on their way. Jack noticed a small but beautiful home in the near distance with a large mass of fenced-in property and several animals in the yard. The orphan couldn't imagine ever living in a place like this. As he was formulating the future story of his life in this lovely home, he tentatively and hopefully asked, "Is dat your place?"  
  
Mr. Rodgers laughed heartily and clapped Jack on the back. "Heavens, no, son!" Jack's hopes fell until Mike added, "That's my place."  
  
Jack followed the pointing finger in the other direction towards an elegant Victorian ranch house, just the right size, with a barn to the side and a huge pasture in the back. Jack's breath caught in his throat and his eyes threatened to well up with tears as he took in the site of his new home. "Wow," was all he could manage to squeak out.  
  
"Yeah, I'm quite proud of 'er. Me an' the wife been savin' all our lives, it's been our dream." Mike smiled lovingly on his home. "But it does get a bit lonely, all of the kids have moved on and all our hands live on their own. It'll be nice to have someone occupyin' one of the extra rooms."  
  
Jack smiled. "Yeah, I think it'll be real nice."  
  
---  
  
Cut's two right hand men walked through the streets of Manhattan where they knew that Jack's boys could usually be found, looking for someone who could be of use to them. "Hey kid. Where's Jack Kelly?" Esco Anderson asked Snipeshooter, roughly pushing him.  
  
Snipes cowered slightly, but put on a tough face. "What's it to you?"  
  
"We need to talk to 'im." The rather large boy glared menacingly at him.  
  
"Well, he ain't here." Snipes cleared his throat as his voice cracked.  
  
Esco was beginning to get annoyed. "Well where is he?"  
  
"He's gone. Left for Santa Fe." Sniper tried to turn around and walk away, but Butcher Halloran grabbed him by the collar. The small boy saw Blink and Race a few yards away and caught their eyes with an imploring glance.  
  
"Well den who's in charge o' yer lousy little butts?" the large boy growled angrily, nearly lifting Snipeshooter off the ground.  
  
"We are!" Race announced heroically, he and Blink each standing up to one of the men.  
  
"You run along now, Snipes," Blink muttered to the trembling yet enraged boy, who backed off a bit but decided to stick around, just in case they needed his help.  
  
"Well uh, what seems to be da problem here, boys?" Race asked challengingly, somewhat avoiding eye contact.  
  
"We wanna tawk ta Jack Kelly."  
  
"He ain't here. Anyt'ing we can 'elp ya wit, gentlemen?"  
  
Esco was getting quite agitated with Race's cocky attitude. "Yeah, yous can help me. Cut O'Shea sent us here on account of some o' your boys been sellin round da Bronx. You need to keep your own newsies on your own turf." He began to shove Race, and was consequently shoved right back.  
  
Poker O'Shea, a girl of about fourteen who was new to the Manhattan newsies, was selling nearby with Mush and Dutchy. She heard the commotion and looked over, recognizing the two bigger boys as her brother's cronies. "Come on, let's see what's goin on." Poker dragged Mush and Dutchy with her.  
  
Meanwhile, Blink was trying to keep everyone calm. "We'se sorry, guys, we didn't mean to cause no disagreements or nuttin. We'll keep our guy in 'hattan from now on."  
  
But Race was still mad. "Yeah, we'll keep 'em outta da Bronx! We don't want 'em catchin' no diseases!"  
  
Blink tried to pull his friend back before any punches could be thrown, but he was too late. Butcher's fist met Race's eye and threw the boy backwards.  
  
Blink caught his friend as he fell, then swung his own fist in the general direction of Butcher's nose. It met with a resounding crack. Then Esco got in on the fight, punching Blink hard in the jaw. In a matter of seconds, the small scuffle had turned into an all-out brawl.  
  
"Guys, what are doing, stop it!!" Poker shouted. But her cries were lost in the jumble of bodies, flailing limbs, angry cries, and blood, which Mush, Dutchy, and even Snipeshooter had joined in on. She jumped on Butcher, attempting to pull him away from Mush, but was roughly thrown back and kicked, landing in a heap on the ground.   
  
As Dutchy connected an uppercut to his chin, Esco realized that he and Butcher were greatly outnumbered. "Butch, come on, let's get outta here!" As he pulled the other boy along, Esco noticed that the crumpled heap on the ground behind him looked a lot like little Poker O'Shea. He remembered seeing Butcher knock a random smallish person to the ground in the brawl, but he figured it would bode much better for the two of them if he told his boss that his beloved little sister had been beaten up by one of the 'hattanites.  
  
"What!?" Cut bellowed upon hearing this news.  
  
"We'se sorry, Boss." All of a sudden, Esco found his shoes very intriguing. "We didn't even know she was around!"  
  
"Yous wasn't supposed to start a fight!"  
  
"Dey started it!" Butcher lied quickly. "Little scrawny kid t'rew da foist punch!"  
  
Cut took a deep breath and bared his teeth. "Well didja tawk ta Kelly?"  
  
"Eh, no, uh, not really, no," Esco stammered, wincing at Cut's menacing growl. "He's gone, jus up an' left. Dey put some shrimpy lil' Italian n' dis kid wid an eye patch in charge."  
  
"Well didja tawk ta dem?!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, we did! Dey said dey'd stop!"  
  
Cut rubbed his temples. "So how did da fight start?"  
  
Esco looked nervously over at Butcher, realizing that they story they had told Cut so far didn't quite mesh with what had actually happened. "I-I dunno, dey jus jumped us!"  
  
"Yeah!" Butch agreed. "Dere was like, ten of 'em, dey ganged up on us!"  
  
Esco dropped his head and scratched his neck as his partner continued to improve the truth.  
  
Cut interrupted a rambling Butcher. "So what happened with Poker?"  
  
Esco thought fast. "Eh, she saw us an' tried to fight us off, I guess, but one o' da other guys creamed 'er by mistake."  
  
Cut's anger flared. "Who was it?!"  
  
"Eh, I t'ink it was da kid wit da patch," Esco lied.   
  
Cut took a few deep breaths. "Alright boys, we'se stakin out 'hattan tommorrah. We'se gonna teach dese lil twerps a t'ing or two bout property rights…" 


	5. Out On the Streets

Shout-outs to everyone whose name I'm too lazy to look up and acknoledge that you reviewed! But I hope ya'll love this chapter...I should place a warning on it though, character death. It's not graphic (shame on me!) but he dies nonetheless. So, here's chapter five:  
  
~*~*~  
  
"Skittery! Come 'ere, we need ta tawk ta yous!" Race was pretty mad. His eye was beginning to swell up, and Poker probably had a broken nose. Mush had carried the unconscious girl back to the lodging house and lain her in the sick room.  
  
"Whaddya want?" Skittery trudged over to Race and Blink across the bunk room, followed by Specs and Snoddy.  
  
"You'se been sellin in da Bronx again!" Race chided. "I thought we agreed dat you t'ree was gonna stay on da east side."  
  
Skittery sniffed. "So what if we don't? Ain't like no one had no trouble wit us or nuttin."  
  
"Oh, is dat whatchu t'ink, huh? Dat whatchu do only affects you n' no one else? Well, you'se wrong, Skitts! You'se dead wrong!" Blink tried to calm down a raging Race.  
  
Skittery was puzzled. "Whaddya talkin' about?"  
  
Blink explained. "A couple o' guys came over from da Bronx today, complainin dat some o' our boys been sellin in dey're turf. A fight started. People got hurt."  
  
The three looked away ashamedly. Then Specs cut in. "So yous two is sayin awl dis is our fault?"  
  
"Well dat sure is how it looks, ain't it?" Blink was beginning to lose his cool as well.  
  
Snoddy shook his head pensively. "So this is what it comes to, is it? Our beloved leader walks out and you two take it upon yourselves to be the self-proclaimed dictators. Well how do you think we poor peons feel? Did we get a say in who became the new leader? No. Did we get a say in any of this? No. So as soon as something goes wrong, you two place the blame on the only people who took a stand against your reign of tyranny."  
  
Everyone stared at Snoddy, their mouths slightly open, heads slightly cocked. He speaks, thought the collective subconscious. And quite eloquently, too, for an uneducated New York newsboy. Perhaps there was more to Snoddy than met the eye… but that wasn't the issue at hand.   
  
"No, Snoddy, dat ain't how it is," Blink continued after a moment of shocked silence. "We'se jus tryin to do what's best for you guys, an' da rest of da boys. Yous was wrong, we warned ya not to go to da Bronx. Yous didn't listen, and now we could 'ave a war on our hands."  
  
Snoddy gave Race and Blink a defiant look and turned to face Skittery and Specs. "Come along now, boys. We don't have to stay here and take this. We should have done this when all of this began a week ago." He moved to his bunk. "We're moving out." Skittery and Specs looked at him in shock, then gave their former leaders a contemptible glare and followed Snoddy.  
  
"Yeah, we don't need yous!" Skittery shouted.  
  
"Good!" Race shouted back. "Please leave, see how much bettah it is livin on da streets!"  
  
Snoddy had slunk back to the background and silently relinquished control of the small contingent back to Skittery. The three began to pack their meager belongings as Blink and Race stormed away and sat on Race's bed. Neither mentioned anything about Snoddy's outburst. It truly was rather creepy. However, Snoddy alone was the least of their worries. "Who would've thought?" Blink mused quietly.  
  
"Why those low-down, dirty-rotten, sons-of-a--"  
  
"Race, calm down, don't worry about it. We'se bettah off witout 'em. We don't gotta worry bout where dey sell no more."  
  
Race took a few deep breaths. "Yeah, but we do gotta worry bout dem Bronx boys. I t'ink we may have jus started an all-out turf war today."   
  
  
  
As the discouraged leaders sat contemplating the events of the day, which they feared would lead to more carnage, one thought weighed heavily on both of their minds. "What would Jack do?" they both murmured softly.  
  
However, carnage on the streets of New York was the furthest thing from Jack Kelly's mind at the moment. He thought he was in a dream. The "Cowboy" formerly of the Manhattan newsboys now truly was a cowboy. Roping cattle, wrangling wild horses…sometimes, when he got lucky. But mostly just cleaning the stables, grooming the sheep, branding the horses, fixing fences, and a plethora of other jobs that needed done. However, being a cowboy wasn't all a bed of roses. Jack hadn't bargained for all the hard work. The hours were long, the sun was hot, and the work indeed very hard. But the pay was better and boss nicer than he could have ever hoped for. Nevertheless, when Jack lay awake at night, physically exhausted but somehow unable to sleep, he couldn't help feeling that he had had more freedom back at the place that had trapped him all of his life.  
  
---  
  
"Alright, come on fellas, get up!"  
  
Blink groaned and rolled over, his mind automatically reminding him of the foreboding danger that the day could bring. His dreams had been littered with blood, death, and the occasional giant pink koala. Not that he even knew what a koala was…He hopped down from his bed and greeted a groggy Racetrack.  
  
"Sleep well?"  
  
Race yawned, stretched, and gave Blink an annoyed glare. "Like a baby," he snorted sarcastically.  
  
"Ready to run from da Bronx boys today?" Blink joked, heading for the washroom.  
  
Race rubbed his temples agitatedly. "Oh, don't remind me." He followed Blink to the washroom and looked at his haggard form in the mirror. "I don't know how much more o' dis I can take, Kid."  
  
"Me neither," Blink muttered, his thoughts focusing more on his troubles at hand than on the sharp razor gliding over his face.  
  
The boys continued to get ready and headed out on a dreary, drizzly day. Not very promising for selling. "Dis day jis keeps getting bettah n' bettah," Mush muttered to Race as the rain started to come down harder. Most of the guys knew of the happenings that had taken place yesterday and last night. They had been advised to stay in groups of at least five. Jake had been elected to stay at the house with a recovering Poker and the little ones, just as a precaution. The guys didn't want to start to panic or anything, but, as Blink put it, "bettah safe den sorry."   
  
After the boys bought their papers, Race took Dutchy, Pie Eater, Bumlets, Snipeshooter, and Swifty, and Blink went with Boots, Mush, Itey, Crutchy, and Snitch. After a rather slow, discouraging, and dampening half-day of selling, the two groups met up at "newsie square" for a short conference, all in attendance so far unscathed.   
  
"Race, we didn't see nuttin," Blink reported. "How bout you?"  
  
Race frowned and shook his head. "Nah, I guess dey forgot about us."  
  
"Eh, I don't know. We should still keep an eye out, jus in case."  
  
"I knows it, but I'se jus sayin we don't need to be scared or nuttin." Then, to the rest of the boys, "Alright guy, ev'ryt'ing's okay, yous can split up again. But jis be careful an' tell me n' Blink if ya see somethin suspicious."  
  
Confused murmurs and apprehensive glances circulated through the crowd, but eventually they split up into their normal selling groups. As Blink and Race branched off on their own, they were accosted by none other than Spot Conlon.   
  
"Heya boys, how's it rollin?" Spot extended his hand to Race in a spit shake.  
  
Race returned the gesture. "Whaddayou doin' here, Spot?"  
  
Spot spit shook with Blink. He shrugged casually, rubbing his nose and looking up at the sky. "Oh, I jus been hearin some t'ings. T'ings from da Bronx. Dey been sayin yous been havin a few, uh disagreements or somethin since Jacky skipped town."  
  
"Boy, news sure does travel fast round dese parts," Blink commented.  
  
"You bet yer patch dere, Kid," Spot quipped with a slight nod. "So, Kelly jus up an' left and nobody thought ta tell me? Dat hurts, boys."  
  
Blink and Race glanced at each other, somewhat intimidated into grudgingly retelling the story. "Yeah well, we woke up in the middle o' da night an' Jack was gone," Blink explained, somewhat wearily, yet still with a hint of bitterness. "We went out to find 'im, but awl we found was a note dat was gonna leave us. Said he was goin ta Santa Fe."  
  
Spot shook his head disbelievingly as Race relayed the rest of the story up to the night before, when Skittery, Specs, and Snoddy walked out. "Wow, dat's crazy. So now Racetrack Higgins n' Kid Blink Campbell is following in da footsteps o' Cowboy Kelly. Ain't da somethin else?"  
  
The other two snorted and shook their heads, any thought of selling for the rest of the day vanquished. "You're tellin me," Blink agreed. "I dunno how you do it, Spot."  
  
Spot shrugged rather arrogantly, examining his fingernails. "Eh, it jus takes a little practice, I guess." He looked up with a knowing smirk. " An' it also 'elps if ya don't start a borough war after your first week on da job. So what kinda trouble you'se gettin yourselves into today, or ya jus savin it all fer later?"  
  
Race chuckled slightly and shook his head. "Nah, it's been pretty quiet. We stayed in big groups earlier and left da kids back at da lodgin' house. But we ain't seen nuthin."  
  
Spot's brow darkened and his tone changed from joking to somewhat worried. "Well, I wouldn't get yer hopes up jus yet. I 'ear Cut's sendin some boys over to pound yous for beatin up Poker."  
  
Blink stopped pacing and looked at Spot, eyes filled with confusion and desperation. "Beatin up Poker? She got hurt durin da fight, but it wasn't our fault. Dat big guy hit 'er!"  
  
"Well, dat ain't what Esco an' Butch told Cut. Dey told 'im dat yous started da fight an' hit Poker."  
  
Race shook his head adamantly. "No, da big guy t'rew da foist punch!"  
  
Seemingly out of nowhere, a very frantic Snipeshooter ran up, almost barreling into the three boys. "Guys, ya gotta 'elp us! Dutchy's hurt real bad!"  
  
As if their conversation had been somewhat of an omen, the three glanced at each other grimly and followed Snipeshooter to the bloody scene a few blocks away.  
  
Dutchy lay in a pile on the ground, blood welling up around him. Mush stood over him, in little better condition, a black eye and blood dripping from his knuckles. Blink ran up to Mush and lay an arm across his shoulders, trying to calm the other boy.  
  
"Mush, what happened?"  
  
Mush's words caught in his throat as he took frantic gasps for air. "Dese guys jus came an' jumped us, we didn't do nuthin, they hit Dutchy real hard, we tried to fight 'em off but dey was too big, an den dey jus ran off, an--"  
  
"Mush, Mush, calm down buddy." Blink tightened his grip on his friend's shoulders. "You awight?"  
  
Mush breathed deeply as he began to calm down. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. But, Dutchy!" Mush turned his head away, near tears.  
  
"Come on, man. Let's get yous two back ta da lodgin house."   
  
---  
  
Mush was indeed alright. But he had been right about Dutchy. It was too late for him. The lodging house was very quiet that night, and most of the guys went to bed early. Except for Blink and Race, however. They sat on the dingy yet somehow stimulating roof in the dark, chilly New York night air with Spot, collaborating.  
  
"Well, I guess if Jack's newsies is in trouble, Brooklyn can't back down. I'se wit ya awl da way, boys," Spot affirmed sincerely, giving them a grave yet somehow reassuring look. Spot Conlon had a way of doing that. You felt safe knowing he was on your side.  
  
However this time, even the promise of Brooklyn couldn't do much to instill hope in these distraught leaders. "Thanks Spot." Blink gave him a wan smile and pat on the back. "But how long is this gonna go on? How many more people'll have ta die 'fore dey realize how stupid all dis fightin really is?"  
  
Spot shook his head vaguely. "Hard to say, really. Wars has been fought for months over stupider stuff den dis. We'se jus gots ta teach 'em a lesson, den come ta some agreement. But ya gotta fight back, da Bronx ain't big on peaceful negotiations 'less dey's backed inta a corner. Ya guys t'ink ya gots what it takes?"  
  
Race took a deep breath. Heck no, he thought. But they had to be, he realized. Either way, it sure was too late now. Even with Brooklyn, Blink was right. How many people would have to die, be seriously injured? As it had been so many times in the past week, the only thought on Race's mind was, "What would Jack do?"  
  
Spot's brow furrowed. "What didja say?"  
  
"Oh, nothin. Yeah Spot, we got what it takes. But we sure is glad you'se wid us.   
  
"Can't let Jacky-boy's newsies go down witout a fight, eh?" Spot joked, giving Race a light punch in the arm.  
  
Race stood up and spit shook with Spot. "Thanks again, Spot. Ya wanna sleep 'ere tonight, it could be dangerous goin back ta Brooklyn dis late."  
  
"Nah, dat's awight. I'll be okay, dey's don't know I'se on your side yet anyway." He stood to leave and spit shook with Blink. "I'll se yous two tommorrah. Sweet dreams!" he called back sarcastically.  
  
Race and Blink chuckled and bid their ally goodbye. "See ya, Spot, be careful." As Spot tread off into the darkness, twirling his cane challengingly, the other two descended the stairs to the bunkroom where they climbed quietly into bed, eventually drifting off into fitful, dream-filled sleep. 


	6. Where is your loyalty

Come on, I want more reviews ya'll! Haha, don't make me beg anymore than I already am! Anyway, I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter, it's another one of those pivotal ones...  
  
Chapter Six: Where is your loyalty...  
  
Specs stirred in his sleep, scaring a rat. He, Skittery, and Snoddy had taken up residence in a dirty alley after they had been kicked out of the lodging house. Well, not technically kicked out, but it had been, in essence, the same thing. The three were actually racking up a considerable amount of money, considering that they didn't have to pay any boarding or rent. And, once again, they were completely oblivious to the watching eyes upon them.. Yes, these were the boys that had crossed him. They had started this whole thing and indirectly caused the serious injury of his baby sister (who was actually recovering quite nicely under the unrelenting care of Snipeshooter.) Cut was merely waiting for an opportune moment to unleash his pent-up anger upon these unlucky three souls who had picked the wrong Bronx leader to mess with.  
  
---  
  
The next day passed, assimilating into night. More days passed in generally the same fashion, eventually becoming a week. A week filled with mental, emotional, and physical turmoil for the East Side boys. Needless to say, more fights had broken out, confining Bumlets and Jake to the sick room. The conflict had diffused into other areas as well. Switchback and Ace from Brooklyn, having inevitably sided with Manhattan, had crossed into the territory of Queens, who were known for their strong alliance with the Bronx. Diablo and his goons had worked the two over pretty well. Needless to say, Spot was not happy. Leave it to Brooklyn to make every fight their own. The original conflict was nearly forgotten amidst all the scuffle in the other boroughs, but Cut was the type that tended to hold a grudge. Especially when the original conflict involved his baby sister, of whom he was fiercely protective, much to her chagrin, of course. She was recovering quite nicely in Manhattan, where most of the injured had been taken, and was back to selling already. None of this mattered to Cut. The deed had been done, and they would pay. They would pay until they learned to stay on their own territory. Cut leaned back in his rickety wooden chair as he pondered these things, the pencil snapping between his long, lean fingers and shattering into thousands of tiny splinters.  
  
---  
  
Race and Blink were doing all they could to protect their boys, while at the same time keeping their spirits up. But as they stood by the bedside of a dying Itey, they still couldn't help wondering, "What would Jack do…?" Blink turned around, swallowing a lump that was forming in his throat, and followed Race back to the bunkroom.  
  
---  
  
Get up at dawn, milk the cows, collect the eggs, work with the horses, bring in the cows, do any odd jobs around the farm, go to bed, get up, do the same thing over again. None of the wild mustangs Jack had imagined. There was the rare new colt that needed breaking, but that was a piece of cake--for the other ranch hands. The most interaction Jack usually got with the horses was grooming them. There was the occasional unruly bull that got out of order, but, once again, that wasn't Jack's job. Now, granted, Jack was enjoying the sharp contrast of calm, rural Santa Fe from bustling New York. Sure, it was the same sun shining through the clouds, but it was somehow undeniably different here. The air was so pure, undefiled by industry. But, on the other hand, Jack was beginning to feel out of his element. He wasn't used to not being in charge. His dream of Santa Fe had included finally being his own boss, having no one over him. His disillusioned mind was at last beginning to realize that his dreams were unrealistic. As he gazed out over the Rodgers' estate, he imagined the work that had gone into creating such a beautiful home. Back in New York, he hadn't taken into account the years of labor that would have to go into making his dream a reality. This left a feeling of emptiness, as if his eight years of selling papers had gone for naught. As he contemplated these feelings over and over, Jack looked down at his plate and disinterestedly pushed his food around with his fork.   
  
"Jack, what's the matter with you today?" Mike questioned, breaking the uncharacteristic silence of the dinner table.  
  
Jack's head jerked up at the sound of his name. "Huh? Oh, yeah, dis is a lovely dinner, Mrs. Rodgers."  
  
The other two looked at each other with furrowed brows, then back at their sullen ranch hand. "Jack, come now, tell us what's bothering you."  
  
The intense look of motherly compassion in Mrs. Rodger's eyes persuaded Jack to spill his guts immediately.  
  
---  
  
As the boys exited the lodging house the next morning, Blink and Race were stopped by a tall, thin young man who seemed to come out of the shadows. Blink immediately drew his blade and the boys were on their guard. The other man simply back up and held out his hands to show that he was harmless.  
  
"Calm down, brethren, I mean you no harm. I come as a friend." He paused as the guys glanced warily between each other and him and Blink put away his knife. "I am called Preacher. I have come to be of assistance in your time of need. I will take care of your injured, perform any last rites, and do anything else I can to help."  
  
Race glared at the stranger in confusion. "So, lemme get dis straight. You heard about da war, an' you'se comin ta 'elp us?"  
  
"Yes. I believe that you have been wronged and would like to help right this injustice."  
  
"So, dat's whatchu do? Go 'roud, 'elpin people?" Blink folded his arms and furrowed his brow at the man, who only nodded. "How do ya make a livin? Where do ya live?"  
  
"The Lord provides. I have hardly known a day of hunger in years and am always provided with a place to sleep. I live wherever God leads me. I am a servant of the Lord and have been called to help his children." Preacher looked with a kind smile at each of the other men, who were still scrutinizing him.  
  
Race nodded at the quiet, meek young man and pulled Blink around to consult with him. "Whaddya t'ink of 'im, Kid?"  
  
"He seems harmless enough to me," Blink whispered with a shrug. "He wants ta 'elp us out, an' I say we need awl da 'elp we can get."  
  
"Yeah, I guess you'se right. You sure we can trust 'im though?"  
  
Blink gave his friend a "duh" look. "Come on, Race. Da kid's got a Bible in 'is pocket."  
  
Race shrugged and turned around, once again meeting Preacher's kind, bespectacled gaze. He extended his hand and smiled warmly. "Well Preacher, it's good to 'ave ya on our side.  
  
---  
  
Skittery hissed and dragged Specs into an adjacent alley. "Guys, remember, we'se gotta be careful. When ya sees a big, tough-lookin guy glarin at ya from da shadows, don't try an sell 'im a paper!" Skittery whacked Specs upside the head with a roll of his eyes as Snoddy smirked and sniggered softly, shaking his own head. He then launched into a calm tirade of sorts.  
  
"Ey Skitts, be easy on him. Some of us aren't used to having to run from big guys with knives and brass knuckles who want to carve out our guts because our so-called leader doesn't know how to stay on his own territory."  
  
Skittery's nostrils flared. "Ya know what Snoddy? I'se sick o' you an' yer hoity-toity attitude, always t'inkin yer bettah den everyone else!"  
  
Snoddy cut him off with a challenging, "So what are you going to do about it?"  
  
"Boys, boys, please!" Specs cut in. He felt as if he had held his peace for too long. "What are we doin? If we wanna survive, we'se gots ta stick togedda! Now our first mistake was goin against Race an Blink. Ain't we learned our lesson yet? Yeah, so we was wrong. But we all makes mistakes, right? Let's jus try ta get along, please!" His lack of proper sleep contributed to crankiness, which made him somewhat whiny, which only served to further annoy the other two.  
  
"So what now, oh great peacemaker?" Skittery spat with an angry scowl. "Where do we go from 'ere? We'se as good as dead out 'ere anyway. We'se was da ones dat started dis whole mess! We'se got half a' New York City after us!" Granted, it was only the Bronx and the east side of Manhattan, but he was in no mood for specifics.   
  
"We keep a low profile, dat's what. Skip sellin for a few days, jus wait for it to blow over I guess." Specs sighed wearily, glancing from an exasperated Skittery to a once again taciturn Snoddy.  
  
The angry, stubborn look began to melt off of Skittery's features and he patted his friend on the back. "Yeah Specs, I guess yer right fer once." A slight smirk pulled at his lips until Specs proffered another suggestion.  
  
"Hey guys, uh, whadaya t'ink a' maybe goin back ta da lodgin house, joinin back up wit da boys?" he asked, somewhat meekly.  
  
Skittery shoved him away lightly. "No, we ain't gonna go crawlin back to dem! What'll we look like?"  
  
"We'll look like a few guys dat made a mistake and's sorry!"  
  
"No!" Skittery shot back. "We'll look like a couple a' stupid boneheads dat don't know how to take care o' ourselves! Dey pro'lly won't even take us back anyway."  
  
Snoddy silenced the bickering with a step forward, laying a hand on each of their shoulders. "Stop it you two, just shut up. I don't know how much more disagreement I can take. We all made mistakes, individually--" at this word, he took a pause and made eye contact with each of the other two, "--and as a group. There's nothing we can do about that now. We're not going back to the house, because they most likely have no clue what they're doing either."  
  
"So whadaya suggest we do?" Skittery snarled, his voice heavy with challenge.  
  
Snoddy continued evenly, unphased. "Specs mentioned keeping a low profile. I say we leave for a week or so."  
  
"Skip town?" Specs shook his head and shoved his glasses up his nose.  
  
"Yes, 'skip town,'" Snoddy repeated mockingly. "It makes more sense than anything you two boneheads have come up with."  
  
Skittery glared at him with folded arms. "Alright Snoddy, dat's it! You been causin trouble from da beginnin! Go, get outta here! I'se sick a' runnin from me problems!"  
  
Snoddy's gaze shifted slightly and his voice wavered. "Yeah, I guess you're right Skitts. I-I'm sorry, I'll stay." The thought of sneaking out into the hard, cold world didn't seem so appealing alone.  
  
"No." The word resounded harsh and resolute in Snoddy's ears. Skittery continued. "You ain't wit us no more. Me an Specs is goin back to da house, joinin back wit da boys." His nearly menacing glare bored deep into Specs and silenced any words that had been on his lips.  
  
Snoddy shook his head contemptibly. "Fine. Yes, it was my idea to leave and start a borough war, it was all my fault!"  
  
Skittery cut him off once again. "I made a mistake an I admit it! You'se had a bad attitude from da beginnin! It was supposed to be peaceful. Snoddy, we don't want you around if yer jus gonna keep causin trouble.  
  
Snoddy lowered his head and nodded, chuckling slightly. It was amazing how narrow-minded and lame-brained people had become these days. Not able to think of anything appropriate to say, he simply gave the two a sad, "you have no idea what you're doing," smile, turned around, and walked away.  
  
"Sn--" Specs was again silenced by Skittery.   
  
"Let 'im go." Skittery gave Specs an apprehensive look. The other boy looked about ready to follow Snoddy away. "You wit me or not?"  
  
Specs looked from Skittery back to Snoddy, troubled. "Yeah…yeah, I'se jus worried bout 'im, is all."  
  
Skittery sighed, not wanting to admit that he, too, had had trouble letting their friend go. He slung an arm over Specs' shoulders and turned him around, heading towards Duane Street. "Yeah…well, let's get outta here…"  
  
---  
  
To the rest of New York City, the war wasn't going on. The police didn't notice, or most likely, simply didn't care about this simple child's play. The only difference the public noticed was that there were a few less newsboys around the city than usual, and those that remained were even more beaten up and rough looking than usual. Most didn't even notice this. But no one, save a few kindly old people or alarmed mothering types, even cared enough to ask about the "horrid-looking" black eyes and busted lips. The rest, if they noticed, barely cast questioning glances. That's how things were in New York. You stay outta my life, I'll stay outta yours. It had been not two months ago that this ragged band of newsboys, poor orphans and runaways, had changed their world, made the public listen. Now it was all they could do to keep enough attention to sell a few papers every day.  
  
"Heya Race, you goin down to da tracks today?" Pie Eater asked curiously, almost tentatively, waking Racetrack from his reverie. All of the guys had noticed that the normally avid gambler hadn't been frequenting Sheepshead Bay as much as of late. Usually, when he was done selling, he would spend the rest of the day at the horse races, betting: sometimes successfully, usually not. The boys wouldn't see him until late that night when he would slink back to the lodging house and start a late night poker game or join one that was already in progress. However, lately Race had been sticking around the east side all day, sometimes even turning in early.   
  
Race shook his head. "Nah, I'se got some stuff to do around here. Sides, I'se kinda tired." He yawned and stretched slightly for affect.   
  
Blink grinned over at his co-leader. Race really was taking this leadership business seriously. He patted his friend on the back and talked to him softly as Pie joined Itey and returned to selling. "Ey buddy, you sure you don't wanna take a little break? You deserve an afternoon off, go on, go down to Sheepshead."   
  
"Nah, it's alright, you guys might need me or somethin." Upon noting Blink's slight eyebrow twitch, Race quickly added as an afterthought, "I actually have more money now den I did when I was bettin all da time!"  
  
Blink chuckled, in spite of feeling slightly pricked by Blink's first statement. "No really, we'll be fine. I'll take care of anything dat happens. I doubt if we'll have any problems anyway."  
  
Race shrugged almost apologetically. "Nah, I'd be scared to leave you guys alone." He was quite impressed with himself. He had really been growing up, becoming quite self-sacrificing.  
  
"So, you sayin I ain't good enough to handle dis alone, eh?" Blink challenged, folding his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes.  
  
"Uhh…" Race was caught at a loss for words. That certainly wasn't how he had meant it…or was it? "No Kid, it ain't dat…I jus don't wanna, you know, neglect my leadership duties and such."  
  
Blink unconsciously rolled up his sleeves. "Race, I'se perfectly capable of handling dis situation meself."  
  
  
  
"Oh yeah? You t'ink you can take dis on your own, huh? What if I just walked out? What would you guys to den?"  
  
"Well why don't we find out, eh?" Blink snarled, lunging at him.  
  
"Blink!" Race yelled, fending him off and grabbing him by the shoulders, trying to calm down a bit. "Look, let's cut dis out. We don't need to be fightin wit each other, dere's enough violence goin on."  
  
Blink pulled away, taking a deep breath and dropping his head. "Yeah, you'se right." He brought his head back up to give his friend an apologetic look. "It' just all so…overwhelmin, ya know?"  
  
"I know, Blink, I'se right here with ya, buddy." Race nodded, glancing around at the diminishing activity of the bunkroom. "It's stressful, bein in charge of a…of a war an all." He chuckled sardonically, then fell silent for a moment. "I guess I could use a break. But you get one too, Kid. I don't wanna feel like no slacker!"  
  
Blink laughed, relieved that a major altercation had been avoided. All they needed was another disagreement. "Well maybe, but not at the same time!"  
  
"Course not, ya bonehead!" Race jested good-naturedly. "How bout I go to da tracks today, and you go out tomorrow. I dunno, go on a date or somethin."  
  
A grin spread over Blink's face at the suggestion. "Yeah? Well, ya know, dere was dis one goil I sorta had me eye on, before all dis started up."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Race sat down on his bed and lit a cigar, listening intently. "What her name?"  
  
"Anabelle," Blink murmured dreamily. "She's got dis gorgeous red hair, but she don't look like a whore or nothin." He ignored Race's snigger and continued. "And dose eyes…bright blue…" He trailed off, climbing up to his bunk. The guys spent the rest of the evening in like manner, talking about things normal guys talk about, laughing and joking with each other. Just like normal guys, they almost momentarily forgot about the war that plagued the normalcy of the troubled boys, boys no older than themselves…boys that they were, in a sense, responsible for. But they could not completely block out the carnage and danger that afflicted them day after day, lurking around every corner and in the shadows, helpless to do anything about it. 


	7. The Final Straw

At long last, I have updated! It's short, because I didn't already have it written and I am such a slow writer. My new muse hasn't been much help either... _glares at Loki_

LOKI: Hey. This is the second story you've updated since you "adopted" me or whatever, so I'd quit complaining if I were you. 

_shrug_ Whatever. I did have the majority of the fight scene written already...ah well, I guess I should get on with the chapter now, eh?

LOKI: That's the general idea of updates...

Someone remind me, why did I get another smart-aleck muse?

LOKI: Cause I'm just so darn cute?

Oh...yeah...

Shout outs! Meager though they are, I love my reviewers!

**Blue Boxer**: Hug away! Oh, and, yes, Dutchy died, but Itey did too somewhere in there...sorry for the confusion! 

LOKI: And for the gratuitous character death... 

** Fantasy**: blushes Aww, thanks! And no, you're not the first to notice the curse of the "S"'s, as it were...although I didn't realize it myself until it was too late, lol!

** lulu belle**: Sweet, sounds good! Thanks for the review!! 

On to the chapter! Away!!!! 

---  
Although Jack felt a slight weight lifted off his shoulders as an effect of confiding his feelings to the Rogers, he still couldn't shake a niggling feeling that something was not right in New York. He had known all along that they would have their normal hardships, such as getting enough to eat, earning sufficient pay to continue their stay at the lodging house and such. But still there was something…he deeply felt that they needed him for some reason. But that was impossible. He couldn't go back, he had a new life. Jack didn't quite know what is was, but he knew he had to quit dwelling on New York if he were going to do any good in his current situation. 

As their former leader was busy spreading manure and other various fertilizers over the vast green fields under the not-quite risen Santa Fe sun, the New York morning was already fully in swing, hurling our heroes into another potentially dangerous day. 

"How the headlines lookin today, Race?" Snitch asked with a bit of forced casualness, joining the boy on the curb and perusing the merchandise for himself. 

Race looked up briefly. "Eh, I ain't gonna complain. I'll do somethin with em."

Snitch chuckled along with his friend, his voice softening. "Whatcha mean is, we got more to worry bout den da headlines, huh?"

"You got dat right, Snitch." Race shook his head and stood to his feet with a forced sigh. That kid seemed to have a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Or maybe it was just his talent of stating the obvious. The truth was, most of the overall focus remained rapt to the normal mundane things of life, if not more so than usual. The boys found themselves turning to anything they could to get their minds off of the atrocities that faced them in the streets everyday. Mush had started dragging Snipeshooter along with him to the bars, Boots and Crutchy filled Race's empty place at the tracks most days after selling, and no one, not even Snitch or the little ones, dared to ask Swifty where he had been when he came home in the middle of the night, dirty and exhausted, but uncommonly happy. Now that Preacher had materialized to care for their injured, the sick room was all but shunned by the rest of the newsies. Even the ever-faithful spirits of the cheerful newcomer did nothing to abate the growing aura of foreboding that hovered over the East Side like a shroud. Race forced a smile and joined Blink, fully aware that the same thoughts were on his friend's mind as they set out for a day of half-hearted selling. 

An hour or so later, Blink, having parted from Race an hour or so earlier thanks to a combination of another minor argument over leadership responsibilities and the sighting of the lovely Anabelle across the street, dug into his pockets and counted his change, looking up just in time to see Pie Eater running up to him, all but bowling him over. "Blink, dey got Mush, you gotta go 'elp 'im! Dey's working 'im over bad, ya gotta--" Pie took a wheezing gasp for air and dramatically collapsed to the ground, blood trickling into a small pool around him. "Just go, I'll be fine," he croaked. Blink noticed Snitch walking by with Swifty and called them over to tend to Pie. He then took off in the direction his fallen comrade had been running from, convinced that it wouldn't be too difficult to distinguish the particular alley in which Mush was apparently receiving the beating of his life. It didn't take him long to hear the tell-tale sounds and he was soon greeted with an enraging yet pathetic scene. Mush had been pinned to the wall by one boy while another continued to beat the living daylights out of the nearly unconscious boy. He was barely trying to fight back now. This was an alarming oddity for Mush, who could usually hold his own and more in fights. 

Blink took this in for mere fractions of a second before bellowing a challenge and charging into the alley, tackling the boy that was beating Mush and laying a multitude of punches on him. The other guy quickly lost interest in Mush and was now focused on pulling Blink off of his ally, sending a fist into the other boy's good eye. Blink rolled to his feet, realizing that he was now being attacked on both sides. He dodged punches as best he could, but soon found himself in close to the same position as he had found Mush. He struggled insanely and managed to knock a few teeth out, but he then watched in horror as the red-haired boy pulled out a glinting blade. Just as Blink was about to give up all hope and pray one last time, he saw a dramatically enlarged shadow on the wall and Racetrack made his presence known with a hard punch to Cut's kidney. The boy bellowed and dropped the knife, whirling around to face Race. 

Blink fell heavily to his knees and clamored to seize the knife. But the other boy was too quick. The combination of the knife in his rather large foe's hand and the maniacal gleam in his eyes alerted Blink to the ever-growing necessity of running for his life. But he cast a glance at Race grappling with the leader of the Bronx, and knew that he couldn't leave his friend. However these precious seconds spent contemplating his choices gave his adversary ample opportunity to stab the blade deep into Blink's left shoulder. 

Race's attention was momentarily averted from Cut when he heard Blink cry out in pain and watched his friend collapse to the ground as Butcher yanked the knife out of his shoulder. Cut took this opportunity to catch Race off guard with a heavy blow to his midsection. Race doubled over with a grunt, quickly regaining himself and giving Cut a hard punch to the nose as Blink struggled to rise to his feet. He glanced quickly from the momentarily distracted Cut to his wounded friend to the huge boy with the knife who was about to bring it down again. With a heroic bellow, Race lunged at Butch, knocking him off his feet and sending the coveted knife skimming along the ground.

Blink pushed himself to his feet, tentatively touching his shoulder and biting his lip when his hand came back dripping with blood. He fought to stay on his feet and deftly dodged a blow from Cut, returning with a high kick to the chest. He tried as best he could to ignore the tearing pain running down his arm and through his chest as he turned to help Race, who was slowly losing to Butch. He closed his eye and dove recklessly into the midst of the squabble, figuring any more damage to himself would be rather inconsequential. In that assumption, he was wrong, as Butch had regained the knife and taken a wild slash in the area Blink dove into. He would later gain consolation in the fact that he had most likely saved Race's life. Blink's dive had pushed Race, whose throat had been in the knife's path, out of the way. However, all Blink could focus on now was the pain and massive amounts of blood he was losing from both the wound in his shoulder and the new gash in his side as he writhed on the ground, gasping for air and beginning to give up hope. 

This was the scene that greeted Spot and several other of the Brooklyn boys when they appeared on the rooftops, slingshots in hands, as always. The command was given and five pellets were launched at the Bronx attackers, giving Race and Blink precious seconds to regroup. Race dashed to his friend's bleeding side as Cut and Butch took off, caught totally off guard by the rain of bullets falling on them. Their desired advantage quickly accomplished, Brooklyn descended to street level and assessed the situation. 

Spot grimly shook his head and began barking out orders. "Twiggy, you run ahead to Duane Street an' let em know to get a bed ready, we got a bad case comin. Haystack, you take Blink." He cringed as the husky boy roughly lifted the nearly unconscious one into his large arms. "Careful with 'im now! He's hurt, he ain't a sack a' potatoes! Shiner, Rags, you two go back to Brooklyn, make sure dere ain't no trouble dere." All assignments delegated, Spot turned his attention to Race. "You okay, buddy?" he sighed, extending a hand to help him off the ground.

Race nodded, patting Spot on the back and following Haystack back toward the lodging house. "Ya did it again, Spot. Thanks. I thought--I thought we was goners." He shook his head and looked down at his feet, trying to ignore the trail of blood left by his friend's gaping wounds. 

The rest of the relatively short walk was taken in silence. To Race it felt like miles back to safety, mostly attributed to his injuries, which were minor compared to Blink's. 

They finally reached the house and Haystack lugged Blink up to the sickroom, not so carefully dropping him down on a cot. Preacher immediately rushed to his side and began assessing the damage.

"How's it lookin, Preach?" Spot asked, nodding a greeting to Twiggy, who had been at the house for a few minutes, awaiting his leader's return. 

The tall, thin boy shook his head grimly as he ripped at the shreds of Blink's shirt. "I can't tell. I'll help him as best I can, but I can't make any promises." He bowed his head and sent up a silent prayer. In that simple movement, a hush of silence was cast over the entire room and the rest of the boys looked around at each other awkwardly, shuffling their feet quietly. When Preacher looked back up, he nodded and got to work. 

Fifty-three minutes, thirty-two stitches, and a few flasks of whiskey later, Blink was all patched up and dozing restlessly. 

"Lord willing, he'll be fine. The wounds are rather severe, and he lost a lot of blood, but he's strong, he'll make it. I can't guarantee recovery time though."

Race nodded and patted Preacher on the back. "Thanks buddy. Hadn't been fer you--" he cut himself off there, knowing that everyone present realized his implication. He walked over to Blink's bedside, squeezed his hand for a moment, bid goodbye to Spot and his boys, then headed off to the bunkroom.

Sleep didn't come easily for Race that night. It hadn't been for the past couple of weeks, but it was even worse that night. He tried his best to keep the "what if"'s, "I could've"'s, and "what are we gonna do"'s out of his head, but after a day like that, it was nigh impossible. He knew Blink would be okay, eventually, but it still scared him to death. He could've lost his best friend today. That load weighed the heaviest on his mind. He knew he shouldn't have gone to the tracks today. Mush had also endured a severe beating. If Race had been around, both of these casualties could probably have been avoided. But he just had to get out, had to get away from all this destruction and facillitate the destruction of his own life. The debts he had incured from such excessive gambling where becoming increasingly difficult to shrug off. Maybe he really was growing up. As many times as he tried to tell himself that what had happened today was no one's fault, that he really had needed to get away, he couldn't stop beating himself up. How many more? They had already lost men. Not men, even. Boys, mere boys. Boys just like himself, that had not even begun to experience the world or life yet. It had to end. Somehow, Race had to do something to end this.   
---  
"Here we are," Skittery announced with a sigh as he and Specs stood at the stoop of the lodging house, inwardly debating with each other over who would open the door.

"So, what, we just walk on in?" Specs was still skeptical, but he couldn't deny his eagerness to be accepted back into the house.

Skittery shrugged, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "Can't do anymore harm, eh?"

Specs cast him a slightly disapproving glance, then motioned for him to open the door.

Skittery's hand lay on the knob, their portal to safety, security, and amity…or rejection, hostility, and persecution. He turned it slowly--but it didn't move. Then the other way. Still nothing. "It's locked," he announced with a nervous chuckle. He then took a deep breath and knocked, slowly but firmly, and braced himself moments later as the door slowly swung open. 


	8. Returns

So this one's a bit short, but I figured the update had taken way too long to already, so I decided to just go ahead and post it. Enjoy, and please review!  
  
---  
  
"Jack! Hey Jack, come 'ere, you got a telegram!"  
  
Jack slowly rose from the toils of his landscaping duties and mopped his brow with his sleeve when he heard Mike's bellow from the house.  
  
"What's goin' on?" he panted, not having clearly heard his boss' call.   
  
"A telegram," Mike answered, handing him the envelope. "All the way from New York City. I'll be darned, I wonder what could be so important in New York that someone would wanna tell ya about it all the way out here."  
  
Jack laughed as he opened the letter. "Don't worry, Mike, I'll tell ya all about it."  
  
Mike blushed slightly as his wife called him back into the house to give Jack some privacy. "Oh well, I wouldn't wanna pry if it was somethin' private…"  
  
Jack chuckled and shook his head as he pulled out the letter, his mood quickly changing as he read Race's urgent words.   
  
Jack. There's war. People are dying. Blink's hurt. We need you. Please help.  
  
Jack squinted his eyes shut and rubbed his temples, mulling over his choices. The guys really needed him back in New York. He had known something was wrong, he knew he should have gone back. But he couldn't go back now, he had already made his life.   
  
Or had he? Was this really what he wanted? Toiling day after day for someone else, making a considerable amount of money and not even having anything to spend it on? He HAD been more free back in New York, he finally admitted to himself. The words "Blink's hurt" echoed maddeningly in his mind, and he knew what he had to do.  
  
"Mike," he called, heading into the house and approaching his friend.  
  
"What is it, Jack?" Mike asked, concerned, as he stood up from his work on a broken chair. "Bad news?"  
  
Jack sighed and handed Mike the letter. "Yeah. Mike, I need to go back to New York. My friends need me, I should've never left."  
  
Mike nodded understandingly and returned the paper to Jack, patting him on the back. "I know. I've been thinkin about this for awhile. You're a good worker, but I know you ain't happy here, Jack. Go back to New York. We'll be prayin for you." This blessing wasn't the only thing he gave his favorite ranch hand as he pressed a wad of bills into Jack's open palm.  
  
Jack's eyes widened as his hand closed around the money and he extended it back to the other man. "Oh, no Mike, I couldn't--"  
  
"Nonsense," Mike insisted. "Consider it your final paycheck. It's been great havin ya around, Jack. But I think your friends need ya more then we do."  
  
Jack sighed and nodded in agreement, grudgingly but gratefully shoving the money into his pocket. "Thanks Mike. I-I'll never forget you," he murmured sincerely.  
  
Mike sighed and gave Jack a somewhat sad smile, then pulled him into the kitchen. "Well come on, we can't send you on the train with an empty stomach. It's lunch time anyhow, come in and Edith'll fix us somethin to eat."  
  
Jack pasted on a smile and followed Mike, gazing around at what he would be leaving, and reviewing in his mind's eye what he would be returning to. He knew it would be hard, but even more prominent in his mind was the knowledge that he had to do it.   
  
---  
  
Race was startled from his half-sleep as he heard the resolute knock on the large wooden door in the next room over. He nearly welcomed this excuse to take a quick break from his late night co-vigil with Preacher of Blink in the sick room, as he knew that even the loudest banging could never wake the seemingly comatose Kloppman this late at night.  
  
He pulled himself to his feet, looking a mess but fully awake, and tip-toed down the hallway, carefully avoiding the infamous creaky boards. His curiosity at who in heaven's name could be on the doorstep this late at night was piqued, but he was also slightly scared, half-expecting an insane murderer on the other side of the door..  
  
When he finally swung it open, he was slightly disappointed to see his two nervous-looking friends instead of the psycho-killer he had anticipated. "What are yous doin' here?"  
  
Specs looked from Race's unforgiving eyes over to Skittery, waiting for any chance to make a run for it. Instead of running, however, Skittery's eyes were fixed on Race and he stepped forward slightly. "We wanna come back." He tried valiantly to hold his gaze fixed on Race, but he found himself thanking God for the thick darkness of the night. "We'se sorry, we was stupid, and we…we wanna come back."  
  
Race's stare remained even and he folded his arms across his chest, breathing in deeply. The nerve of these boys, wanting to just waltz back into their lives after all the trauma and chaos they had caused. They were the reason so many had died, why Race had been sitting up all night with a near-dying Blink, why the little ones had to skip selling days on end and the others had to live in constant fear. Why should they be accepted back?  
  
"Race, we know we'se been dumb, but we didn't mean nothin by it! Please, we'se gonna die out dere! Please, you gotta help us out." Skittery's gaze had turned to near pathetic pleading.  
  
"Where's Snoddy." Race deliberately changed the subject, taking a deep breath as his eyelids suddenly became very heavy.  
  
Skittery shook his head and shrugged defeatedly. "He left, ran off. He didn't wanna come back. But we do. Please Race. I don't wanna have to beg." He knew he was way beyond begging, but he had hoped to salvage at least a thread of dignity. No such luck…  
  
Race dropped his head and wearily rubbed his temples with a sigh. "Alright. Fine. You guys can stay here for da night. But in da morning…well, we'll see. Get in here, ya bums."  
  
---  
  
Preacher was jerked awake as a heavy groan broke through Blink's lips. He quickly rushed to his patient's side with a cold compress and some clean towels.  
  
"Blink, are you alright?" He pulled back the covers and examined the body for any wounds that had opened during the past few hours.  
  
"Hurts," Blink moaned, eye still squeezed shut.   
  
"Where does it hurt, buddy?" Preacher asked softly, pressing the cold cloth to Blink's burning forehead.  
  
"Everywhere. Yeah, all over. Hurts. Don't feel good."  
  
Preacher tried to keep the boy still as he shoved a bottle of whiskey to his lips. "Here you go, this'll make you feel better," he promised, meanwhile pressing a towel to the bleeding shoulder wound.  
  
By the time the bottle was half-empty, Blink had quieted down and was nearly asleep, murmuring something about cole slaw and hedgehogs before Preacher sat back down.   
  
There were a lot of injured boys in here, and Preacher knew there would be more if something didn't change soon. Unable to sleep, he spent the rest of the night in prayer.  
  
---  
  
"You ain't answerin my question. Let's try dis again." Cut slowed down and over-enunciated. "Did you kill any of them?"  
  
"I. Don't. Know." Esco repeated wearily. "I toldja, we beat 'em to shreds, but we didn't exactly watch 'em die."  
  
"So ya didn't finish da job, is that whatcha tellin me?"  
  
"Well, not in so many words…" Esco resisted the urge to examine his fingernails. "But we'll finish the job. Don't you worry." He narrowed his eyes and cracked his knuckles as he thought of the bruises all over his body provided by the very boys that Cut had a grudge against. And Cut's grudge was his grudge, and Butch's, and the rest of the Bronx boys. So yes, the job would be finished… 


End file.
